


untitled

by mandjalorian



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23951560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandjalorian/pseuds/mandjalorian
Summary: During a high stakes mission with him, the Mandalorian accidentally blurts out the word "cyar'ika" at you; you think it's a curse word...until Kuiil tells you what it actually means.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Comments: 14
Kudos: 291





	untitled

This wasn’t exactly your first rodeo with the Mandalorian. You’d been with him on hunts for quarry before. Not that the Mandalorian had much love for you. Usually you only came along when Greef insisted he needed a second player, which wasn’t often. This time you weren’t sure of the circumstances, but you had a sneaky suspicion the Mandalorian had specifically asked Greef for you to tag along. You couldn’t see why. He was always aloof. Quiet. Not quite standoffish but close.

This was one of the rare times he did need someone though. And while you were quite sure you annoyed him half the time, you also knew you were good at your job. You weren’t a bounty hunter in the traditional sense. Your speciality was tech specifically meant to trick and outmaneuver particularly hard to catch quarries. This time, the Mandalorian was dealing with a changeling. Which could be the trickiest of quarries.

You’d developed a device that could unveil the disguise of a changeling but it wasn’t quite up to specification yet and required two people to man it. One wearing the eye piece - that would be the Mandalorian. And one to actually man the controls - that would be you. And you needed to be close.

The Mandalorian had tracked the quarry down to a cantina on Coruscant. Almost the entire way he’d sat quietly in the belly of the Razor Crest watching you tinkle with your devices, constantly changing and perfecting them. He’d ask questions here and there and you’d been short with him, sure his questions were more out of boredom than anything else. 

Now, you found yourselves in a posh cantina meant for the wealthy and elite. The Mandalorian, tall and striking in his polished armor, seemed to fit in perfectly with the surrounding luxury. You, on the other hand, felt insufficient in a way you didn’t think actually mattered because you were sure the Mandalorian would never look at you that way anyway.

You hadn’t always thought this way about the Mandalorian. Your first few missions with him had been short, quick, efficient. He’d always intimidated you, but as time had passed, your feelings towards him had morphed into something softer. You’d begun to see him in a new light. His soft grazes and touches, the few that you got. His gentle voice. Your belly had begun to float when he spoke to you or looked at you. But you were sure that he didn’t see you the same way.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. This was the last time and place you should have been thinking about any of this.

Instead you readied yourself to activate the eyepiece worn now by the Mandalorian; you sidled closer to where you knew he was waiting for your instructions, not three feet from the changeling. A crackling over the commlink in your ear, a question. 

You spoke softly into your wrist. “Across and two chairs over.” Your device also accounted for tracking of the changeling so you couldn’t lose them even if they changed form again.

A gruff noise in your ear indicated he’d heard you. With a release of your breath, you activated the eye piece.

From there, things happened quickly. You watched in awe as the Mandalorian, seemingly with little effort, dived across the table. A short scuffle later and the changeling who’d been in human form but was now back to their natural form, sat dazed on the floor wearing binders. The Mandalorian hefted the being to their feet and headed your way. Just as the Mandalorian reached you, you both realized the changeling had not been alone. 

The blaster fire took you in the shoulder and you went down. Sprawled on the ground, all you could think about was the fact that you were still alive. 

“Cyar’ika!” You heard the Mandalorian’s harsh voice curse at you. You winced. Not at the pain in your shoulder but rather at the fact that you’d been too slow-moving to avoid being hit and now the Mandalorian was calling you curse words in the tongue of his people. Not that you knew what it meant but you could guess well enough from the context of the outburst.

You didn’t have long to dwell on it before rough gloved hands were pulling your trembling form to your feet again. A split second later, he was shoving you aside; several blaster shots passed through where you’d just been. Then- three blaster shots from the Mandalorian and each of your assailants were down.

“Let’s go.” His words were gruff and you winced again, collecting your gear off the floor of the cantina and rushing after him, noting the way he kept your hand tightly gripped in his, essentially dragging you after him, as he lugged his quarry along just to his left.

He didn’t slow his pace and you struggled not to trip, but you made it more or less in one piece back to the ship. Out of breath, you closed the telescopic gate to the ship behind the two of you as the Mandalorian began freezing his quarry in carbon.

“Can you handle that?” He gestured towards the freezing system but he was brushing past you and back up the ladder before you could respond. He knew you could. You felt the ship taking off as you finished the freezing process and stored the frozen quarry in an empty slot of the system.

Then you were sitting on the edge of his sleep cot and releasing a long drawn out breath. The next thing you knew your hand was at your injured shoulder and your eyes were tearing up. You could be such a baby, but you weren’t used to the same high stakes the Mandalorian usually went through on his hunts. To top it off, he’d been tough and aggressive with you despite your injury. You were tired and just wanted to go home.

When the Mandalorian joined you back below, you were making a poor attempt at patching your wound up with the meager supplies you had in your own pack. The Mandalorian did not check the carbonite freezing system; that was something at least...he trusted your work. Instead he seemed to hesitate when he saw your face, still puffy after crying. But then his eyes must have landed on the terrible job you’d done cleaning and bandaging your wound.

“Wait,” he said, his voice as gruff as usual. He turned and rummaged through a storage drawer before pulling a crate towards you that he could sit on.

He pushed your hands away, though not roughly, and inspected your work. A sharp intake of his breath made you close your eyes. His helmet tilted your way at your grimace. “Are you alright?” You opened your eyes in surprise and stared at his visor. You weren’t sure he actually cared, but you nodded anyway. He hesitated as if he wanted to say more but then instead got started on fixing the mess you’d made of your wound. 

You braced yourself for more pain, the wound was deeper than you’d thought after all, but the pain never came. The Mandalorian was quick and efficient, spraying something cool that numbed your arm. You couldn’t look as he cleaned the area and applied bacta. You’d always been better with machines, never with the body. 

“You’re alright,” he said once he was done in the softest tone you’d ever heard him use. And it made you look at him with eyes you knew were telling of what you were thinking. But he never looked away from the wound and you felt embarrassed for feeling anything beyond grateful. Soon you felt him applying a clean bandage over your shoulder.

“Sleep,” he said as he stood, packing away the rest of the ship’s medical supplies.

He didn’t look your way again, and you felt dismissed, so you lay back and curled in on yourself, resting on your uninjured shoulder. A slight pressure on your waist made you look up to see a folded blanket draped over your knees and the Mandalorian disappearing back up the ladder. He didn’t seem to want to be in the same room as you for longer than he could help it. You sighed sadly as you spread the blanket over yourself, wincing when you jostled your shoulder. You were sure the Mandalorian would be glad to be rid of you considering you’d ended up more a burden than a help this time around, and you would be surprised if he ever requested your help again.

When you awoke, you were shocked to find you were not on Nevarro. Not wanting to question the Mandalorian, you followed him to the hut seemingly located in the middle of nowhere in this vast desert. But your question was answered in due time when the Mandalorian, after a warm greeting, explained in a clipped tone that you couldn’t decipher to the ugnaught waiting inside the hut that you’d been injured and he wasn’t sure he’d done a good job considering there could have been muscle damage. You were at a loss for words and watched mutely as the Mandalorian seemingly fled back to the ship to wait.

The ugnaught seemed accustomed to these kinds of last minute appearances and odd requests; he asked no questions. Instead he settled you comfortably down in a large, soft chair and introduced himself as Kuiil. You made friendly, easy conversation with the ugnaught as he revealed the wound on your shoulder and began prodding and poking. You didn’t look, but you knew he was using some chemical to regrow the flesh you’d lost. He’d numbed you again to ensure you’d feel no pain. Still, you knew pain that came not from your injury but from something else showed on your face.

Kuiil finished patching your shoulder up. “What is wrong, my dear?” He asked finally sitting back and watching your face.

You considered his kind eyes and peered towards the entry to the hut. From the sounds in the distance, the Mandalorian was scraping at carbon scoring on the Razor Crest so would be too far to hear your words.

“It’s just-” You paused, frowning down at your hands where they were gathered in your lap. “I think he hates me.” You decided on.

Kuiil gave a chuckle of surprise that was deep and throaty. His hand came out to lift your chin so you were once again looking at him. “What makes you think that?” His tone was incredulous, his eyes light. He didn’t seem to be taking you seriously.

Your frown deepened. “It’s just- When we were on Coruscant...when I got hurt...he yelled at me - well, he called me a name. I think it was some sort of curse word in Mando’a.”

Kuiil’s brow furrowed, but his lips quivered as if he was trying not to smile. “What was the term?”

You pursed your lips trying to remember. “Cyar’ika.” You finally sounded out. 

Kuiil made a noise of surprise and you glanced at him carefully, fearing the worst. “Are you sure that’s what he said?”

You racked your brain, but yes that was it. You were even sure you’d pronounced it right. It would actually be hard to forget because the word had cut you so deep at the time. You knew the Mandalorian didn’t like you but you’d expected a little bit of sympathy at least at your plight and injury. Instead-

You lost your train of thought when Kuill began lightly chuckling once more, joined this time by the shaking of his head.

“What?” You sat up, glaring somewhat at him now. It was one thing for the Mandalorian to curse at you in the heat of the moment; it was quite another for Kuiil, who you’d thought kind, to laugh at something you were obviously sensitive about.

“My dear,” Kuiil said, struggling to stop chuckling, “that’s not a curse word.”

Oh. But then you frowned again. “What does it mean then?”

Still guffawing, Kuiil managed to finally speak. One word. A word that shot through you to your core. “Beloved.”

Suddenly you found yourself holding your breath, hands at your cheeks. “That’s impossible.” You croaked, your voice cracking.

A sound at the hut’s entry startled you, and you looked just in time to see the Mandalorian slipping into the small room. Your eyes immediately found the floor; you couldn’t look at him. Had he heard? You hoped beyond hope he hadn’t heard. So many thoughts were running through your brain. Kuiil must have been wrong. The Mandalorian had sounded so tense when he’d said the word to you. But- He almost always sounded that way, and if the word meant what Kuiil said it did, and if the Mandalorian had meant it that way, wouldn’t that be a natural reaction to seeing you injured? You blanched inwardly, sure you were being stupid.

All of these thoughts flew through your head as the Mandalorian thanked Kuill, promised to return soon and gave his goodbye. You thanked Kuiil, who still looked amused, embraced him briefly and then followed the Mandalorian silently back to the ship. He said nothing to you as the gate shut behind you. As usual he rushed up the ladder but you heard his footsteps above stop. Then-

“Would…” A pause, then- “would you like to sit in the cockpit with me?” He sounded hesitant, unsure.

You took the two steps forward so you were looking up at him through the hatch. “I...” But your hand had already found the rungs of the ladder. So you said nothing and instead ascended. Then you were joining him in the cockpit. You’d been in it before on previous missions when things hadn’t felt so tense, when the Mandalorian had been much less aloof and distant. You sat and buckled yourself in as the Mandalorian blasted the ship off into space and then hyperspace.

Gathering your courage, you asked a question that had been a pinprick in your brain since you’d awoken. “Why did we stop here...” You trailed off, so uncertain, sure you shouldn’t be questioning him. “Inst- instead of going straight to Nevarro, I mean.” You rushed to clarify, wincing at the thought he might find your question annoying.

He didn’t turn to look at you, but he responded after a short period of silence. “I- Your injury was my fault. I didn’t want permanent injury caused to you because of- because I wasn’t cautious enough...” He trailed off, sounding more unsure than you’d ever heard him.

You wondered if it was just a guild thing; maybe he didn’t want Greef angry that he’d caused any damage to an admittedly valuable asset. But the word “beloved” kept echoing at you in Kuiil’s voice in your head; you couldn’t shake it.

Not a moment later, the Mandalorian was turning in his seat to face you. He seemed to have reached a decision. 

“I...” He stopped then rested his hands on his knees as if grounding himself in preparation for what he was about to say. You held your breath again, heart in your throat, now sure he’d overheard you and Kuiil, sure he was about to correct the ugnaught’s bad translation skills. “What Kuiil said...” 

He stopped again and you felt your face growing warm. You couldn’t look at him. Could not...stare your own embarrassment in the face - well- visor.

But you figured you could save him from his. What he must be feeling...thinking  _ you _ thought he’d called you something he never would’ve...and the awkwardness of correcting that...

“It’s alright,” you tried for a light tone that only came out choked. “I told him he was wrong. I know that’s not what- I mean- I knew it was- you were...just...it was clumsy of me and I’m sure- I mean, it was the heat of the moment...we all curse when we’re mad, so, you know, no hard feelings. I’ll try- to be...more careful...” You broke off again, your mortification only growing. You hadn’t meant to imply he’d ever ask you on another mission. You rushed to correct it, wincing, knowing you were only making it worse. “Not that you ever have to partner with me again...I mean...” 

You were floundering and you were sure you both knew it because suddenly he was standing and while you saw his silhouette in your peripheral vision, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him through the tears now blooming at the corners of your eyes.

Your heart began pounding as he approached you, when he crouched down in front of you so you were forced to look at him, and you almost gasped when his hands rested now on  _ your  _ knees.

“Cyar’ika.” A whisper beneath the helmet not captured by the vocoder so you heard it instead in his natural voice dimly from beneath his mask.

You couldn’t find it in you to breathe for several seconds. Less so when one gloved finger came up to your chin, tilting your face further up so you were staring him full in the visor.

“What Kuiil said,” he continued as if you hadn’t interrupted him. “The translation is right.”

He held your face there with one finger, both of you staring, only one actually able to see the other, as if he was waiting for a reaction, a response. But you were too shocked to speak, could not believe this was happening to you.

Finally a stuttered, “But- but you hate me.”

His hand dropped in surprise from your chin to your thigh and suddenly you were feeling warm all over.

“Hate you?” Now he sounded bewildered, as if  _ he  _ couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

You spoke but tried not to move the rest of your body, afraid if you did, he would move away, that he would stop touching you. The hand on your knee and the one on your thigh were blazing, awakening a fire in you you hadn’t known you had. 

“You’re- you’re always so quiet. I annoy you. It’s a pain to take me with you.” You voiced suddenly out loud the sum of all the insecurities you had collected over time, over missions with him, things you’d convinced yourself of based on nothing but body language and tone.

The hand on your knee tightened and you released a whoosh of breath, completely in awe of the effect that one contact was having on your body. You’d never felt more alive.

“Cyar’ika,” he repeated, and his other hand left your thigh to take your chin fully in his palm, tilting your face again so you had no choice but to stare into his visor. You closed your eyes at the tenderness with which he said the word in a tone he’d never before used in your presence.

“I didn’t mean to be so rough with you on Coruscant,” his voice willed you to believe him. “When I saw you’d been shot...” His voice trailed off, sounding strangled. “I wasn’t  _ mad _ at you.” One finger drifted across your cheek, leaving a fiery line in its wake. He brought your very skin to life. “I was scared. I didn’t want-” He stopped here and you felt him move his body closer to yours, his other hand trailing from your knee to your waist. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

Your breathing was ragged. This couldn’t be happening. Not to you. These kind of lovely, warm moments did not happen to you. You were made for a dreary life of toil with the Bounty’s Guild, not for soft leathered touches in a cockpit now too warm to handle. Not for feather soft words that tickled your very soul.

But he wasn’t done. “I don’t hate you. I...couldn’t.” Now he almost sounded amused and you opened your eyes to gaze his way. A finger ran over your lips and your breath hitched. “I’m...” He trailed off again, suddenly sounding unsure once more. “You frighten me.”

You started, staring at him like he’d grown another head. “Me?” You said in a voice so squeaky it was almost comical.

He chuckled and it warmed you to your core. You found your lips ticking up in your own involuntary smile. His happiness, little of it that you’d witnessed, was infectious. “Yes, you.” He paused again, then- “I never know what to say. I’m afraid of- of saying the wrong thing.” He hesitated again, looking down at the floor before back up at you. When he spoke again, his voice once again sounded heavy, almost congested. “You can’t know how long- how long I’ve been wanting- this.” His hand flexed around your face.

You were struck dumb. With so many things. Disbelief above all. Wonder as well. And pure joy. You must have hesitated just one moment too long. Or the look on your face must not have reflected what you were feeling. Because in what seemed to be a moment of realization, his hand dropped from your face and he was standing up and backwards, away. The sudden absence of his presence just before you was so pronounced. In the worst way.

“I didn’t mean- I thought maybe-” He couldn’t seem to finish his thought, but clearly he took your awe as rejection. He took another step back.

Before you could second guess yourself, your hand flew out to grab his before he was too far to touch. He froze. But so did you. You willed your lips to work. “Wait.” The word was strangled, but it gave you the strength to speak up.

“If you-” You swallowed the lump in your throat, praying this was real and not some trick on your psyche, some side effect of the numbing agent Kuill had given you. “I’m- Me as well. I-” You finally found the courage to look up at his visor from under your eyelashes. You said the one word you hoped would convey what it was you couldn’t seem to say. “Cyar’ika.” You squeezed his hand, hoping he’d understand.

A beat. Then- He fell back to his knees in front of you, cradling your head against his. You breathed a long sigh of relief, relaxing into him and letting go of all the tension you’d collected since...since you could remember.

_ Cyar’ika _ . You couldn’t believe you’d ever thought it a curse word. It sounded so beautiful coming off his lips now, more like a blessing. Or a prayer. You’d never had a favorite word before, but you thought that now, considering everything that one word had just gifted you...you had at least one favorite word.


End file.
